Part 2: Bichos

Even though we are living in the middle of the countryside, the truth is that I am a bit of a townie. That means that I never managed that air of easy authority around dogs and cattle. On our regular walks in the nearby natural park, Cheryl and I frequently have our ramblings curtailed by dogs or cattle. The dogs in question are usually Spanish mastiffs, and the truth is that even though I weigh some 110 kilos, I still wouldn’t fancy a scrap with a dog that may only weigh 20 kilos less than me. And as for the cows, I know everybody says they are only curious, but they have big horns, and they look bloody aggressive to me. Especially those reddish-brown ones that taste so good.

But it is not the potentially really dangerous animals that have got me scared. It’s the small stuff. The bichos that inhabit our patio and sometimes my dreams. The other day, Cheryl was doing a spot of weeding and called me over to examine a particularly exotic looking spider that she had found in among the leaves of one of our geraniums. I thought the hour glass markings on its back looked vaguely familiar, and so I slipped back into the house and ever so nonchalantly typed the words: “European Black Widow” into Google. Within a nanosecond the diagnosis was confirmed and I slipped back out into the patio and casually murmured: “Perhaps it might be better not to disturb that one, actually love.”

Our fig and pear trees attract wasps by the hundred, and whilst I don’t like them, I can’t help but admire their industry as they make those nests of chewed up wood. Our garage is absolutely full of nests, and what with us living in so close proximity to so many wasps, it is a wonder that neither of us has been stung yet. When it happens, and I am sure that it will, then I am equally sure that the local remedy will involve sheep dung, or something at least as unpleasant as the sting itself. The locals though, seem not to notice things like mosquitoes and ants. We are forever buying new powders to keep ants at bay, and refills for the electric mosquito repellents that we religiously plug in every night before bed. Yet I have never yet heard one of the villagers mention problems with either ants or mosquitoes.

In the dog days of last summer, we had a virtual plague of praying mantises. The locals call them Santa Teresitas and one old boy in the village makes models of them from fuse wire; quite realistic they are too. When newly hatched, they can look almost cute as they raise their spiny forelimbs in an effort to frighten you. Once they get to around the six inch mark though, they are a different prospect. A good sized one got into the house when some friends were round to have a bite to eat, and before picking it up and popping it outside, I made sure I had my leather work gloves on. Even then I wasn’t convinced that I had enough protection, and wrapped the offending bicho in three or four kitchen towels before liberating it.

But at least I am not afraid of snakes. For some reason they fascinate me. Cheryl is also quite keen on them and on our walks we have seen quite a few different species now. The villagers do not share our fascination, and instead tell tales of a beast called an Alicante. When the Alicante bites you, the only thing to do is to call a priest in order to receive the last rites. I wonder if that goes for non-believers as well.

Articles in the series:

Introduction to Pete's Tale

Part 1: Village Life

Part 2: Bichos

Part 3: A Two-Bar Town

Part 4: Fruit and Veg

Part 5: Summer

Part 6: Politics

Part 7: Noise

Part 8: Our natural park

Part 9: New Year's Eve

Part 10: Timetables

Part 11: The Land Where the Pig is King

Part 12: How Not to Buy a House

Part 13: That First Winter

Part 14: The Extremeño Spring

Part 15: To be a Pilgrim

Part 16: A Change is Coming

Part 17: Wine Talk

Part 18: Free For All

Part 19: How Do You Spell Asparagus?

Part 20: Designer Peas